This town is full of monsters

With your feet on the air and your head on the ground
Try this trick, and spin it, yeah
Your head will collapse
And there’s nothing in it
And you’ll ask yourself:
Where is my mind?
Where is my mind?
Where is my mind?
Way out in the water, see it swimmin’



Swahili possesses some priceless expressions. “Pole,” (pronounced pole-lay), is one such expression. It is the universal Swahili word for “sucks to be you,” regardless of the degree of suck. Friend stubs his toe? Toss him a pole. Shopkeeper’s store is robbed? Pole! Neighbor’s mother just died? A pole is appropriate. Really, a handy word. It also happens to be this month’s theme! Pole Zanzibar. Pole, more than enough.

Without reservation I can say that this past month has been the strangest of my entire life. Remember our old pal Popo Bawa, everyone’s favorite serial sodomite bat demon? Remember how I said witchdoctors were predicting his imminent return? Well, my friends, Popo returned with a vengeance, and he went medieval on the folk of my little island.



Now, my last blog entry prompted an unprecedented flood of emails. As much as I would like to think my sharp wit and brilliant prose are to thank, I am willing to concede that it was perhaps something else that drew your particular interest. I am an engineer, after all, not a writer. No, I’m gonna go ahead and surmise that it was the universal hilarity of an anal raping bat demon on the loose that got you all excited (sickos).

Following my last post, a couple of you were kind enough to send me a link to a BBC article discussing a recent Popo hysteria in Dar es Salaam. It seems that in late February Popo returned from exile, and his first stop was Dar. People slept in the streets and on rooftops (Popo can’t get you if you’re not in your bed), built bonfires, and were in a general state of mass panic. As it so happened, us island volunteers were going to Dar the very next week for a Peace Corps conference. Oh joy!

A couple days before my journey to Dar, one of my students approached me with perhaps the most excited grin I’ve ever seen. He was so pleased he could barely get his words out. Apparently the night before he had finally completed training his pet shetani (shetani is Swahili for demon). With its new training, his shetani could now protect him from a Popo Bawa attack. Now, as much as I wanted to let out a chuckle, by the impressed looks of the other students listening I sensed this was no laughing matter. I did manage to get a few questions out though. What does his supernatural friend look like? Hard to explain, plus foreigners are unable to see it without special training. Where does it sleep? An empty glass bottle. Can a person have multiple pet shetani? Absolutely, (gotta catch ‘em all!). What do they eat? Animal sacrifices once a month. What exactly is used in the demon training process? Green magic, (silly question I guess). Peace Corps Tanzania is rapidly turning into Dungeons and Dragons.

Green magic. And why not, right? A bit later another student offered me a longer explanation about the magical forces of the world. She’s one of the local green magic experts, a child prodigy of sorts. Very well respected. So, the world has two types of magic: Blue and Green. Blue magic is only used for evil. A powerful blue wizard is capable of telekinetic feats, flying, throwing lighting bolts, and summoning blue magic shetani. Blue magic shetani include Popo Bawa and Genies. General opinion is that Popo Bawa attacks are the result of government-trained sorcerers of the mainland trying to terrorize the islands. (There’s a long history of political conflict between the Zanzibar Islands and the Tanzanian mainland, but that’s the topic for another time). Blue magic can be countered by two forces: Green magic and Allah. Pray hard enough, and if you’re very lucky, Popo can’t getcha.

Green magic, on the other hand, is neither good nor evil. It is more subtle than Blue, and is used in charms, protection spells, curses, and possessions. A Green magic oracle is even capable of future predicting visions. Green magic is very powerful, and even prayer cannot be used to counter it completely. Cursed by a Green spell, I’m afraid it’s a trip to the local witchdoctor for you. The girl explained this all to me with such fervor and sincerity, I was actually kind of touched by her heartfelt explanation. Upon returning home I asked some of my neighbors about my new “understanding” of the world, and they concurred that, indeed, this is how the magical forces of the world operate. They all insisted that I was a damn fool for not bringing any protection, (whether magical or Islamic), with me to Dar. Popo Bawa was on the prowl, after all. Now, I ain’t afraid of no ghosts, so I was willing to take my chances.

Despite not having a spirit-in-a-bottle, I managed to avoid any Popo attacks. My Dar trip was actually really great. It was my first time in more than 3 months off the island, and oh man did it feel good. After three months out in the boonies, Dar was a glowing beacon of civilization.

The conference’s purpose was to provide training to Peace Corps volunteers and our Tanzanian school counterparts for HIV/AIDS education. Most of the information was very useful, and my counterpart and I have now started putting together a program to train local teachers to teach primary and secondary school students about HIV/AIDS. After a week long conference about the reality of AIDS in Africa, it’s hard to not get involved. Tanzania, in particular, has been devastated by the virus. Scientists think the virus even originated in the lake region of Uganda and northwest Tanzania. Infection rates in Tanzania are believed to be above 10%. Scary stuff. HIV/AIDS education here is an uphill battle, but hopefully we’ll be able to reach a few people. Many Tanzanians are convinced that infection is caused by an angry god or evil spirits. Take the appropriate spiritual measures, and you have nothing to worry about. If evil spirits can give HIV/AIDS, than my island is screwed. Popo Bawa gets around.



Lucky for all of us, Popo Bawa had actually already left Dar by the time we arrived. He’d migrated north to Tanga, a staging ground before the ruthless onslaught on his island homelands. (I’m not entirely sure just how his travel plans became public knowledge… Green magic witchdoctor foresight?) His attack on my island would start in the southern port town, and from there he would travel north, ultimately to my town. His arrival just so happened to coincide with our return from the conference. Lucky. (Popo Bawa Tanzania Tour 2007 t-shirts are pending.)

Admittedly, when I returned home Popo Bawa was not on the top of my list of concerns. It seems while in Dar I managed to pick up a nice case of Amoebic Dysentery. I’m ok now, but over the course of about a week I managed to lose almost 10 pounds. No good. Another surprise after coming home was the complete absence of mosquitoes. Before I went to Dar mosquitoes at my village were a major problem. Apparently while I was away the government came and carpet-bombed my town with DDT. You all remember DDT, everyone’s favorite carcinogen of the 50’s! I guess people here decided cancer later was better than malaria now. The project is actually US funded I’ve learned. The US believes it has created a less cancerous version of DDT, but before using it in the Southern USA, (where malaria has returned thanks to global warming), they’re testing it in small parts of East Africa. In terms of insect slaughtering power, the stuff works! Word’s still out on the reduced cancer though… I’ll let you know in 10 years. Being a guinea pig ain’t easy, but someone’s gotta do it.

While a decent number of people in my town were slightly nervous about Popo Bawa before my trip to Dar, by the time I returned everyone was in absolute hysterics. Many people admitted to having been assaulted by the demon in recent days. Apparently when Popo is going medieval on his victims he makes a point to tell them that if they do not tell everyone about what happened then he will come back the next night for twice as long. As such, I’ve received more than a small number of sobering Popo confessions over the past few weeks. These aren’t just from the local quacks either; we’re talking about some of the most educated people in town. When a grown man comes to you and admits to being anally raped by a demon the night before, it’s not easy to come up with an appropriate response. Seriously, what can you possibly say to that? As multi-purposed as the word may be, I feel like even the most somber “pole” doesn’t quite capture just how much sympathy these tragic victims deserve.



What’s amazing is just how prolific Popo manages to be every night. I mean, that pesky demon covers a lot of ground (and people) over the course of a single night. After some serious thought, (when you’re living alone on an isolated African island, one has a lot of time on one’s hands), I’ve concluded that there are only two possibilities. Either there is more than one Popo Bawa, (the oldest horror movie trick in the book), or Popo is rocking some space-time bending Santa-esque powers. Popo Bawa: Santa of sodomy.

Now it might have been the insides-devouring parasites making me a bit delirious, but I have to admit that after a few days back in town even I was getting a bit freaked out by Popo. Every night I would hear countless screams across the countryside. One night while biking home from a friend’s house I heard a chilling “Allah! Acha Popo, acha! Nenda Popo!” coming from someone’s home. Translation: “Oh God! Stop Popo, stop! Get away Popo!”



At this point you may be thinking that it would be impossible for the situation on the island to get any weirder. You would be wrong. I’m pretty sure I now know what going mad feels like. One afternoon I was sitting in a small restaurant in town and I was pleasantly surprised to see a couple new faces. A couple of Christian missionaries from Sweden had come to the island to do a bit of work. Needing to get a lot off my chest, minutes after meeting these people I went an on enormous rant about the current Popo Bawa invasion and how crazy the entire town seemed to have gone. This was a bit of a faux pas. Apparently, these two already knew about the demons of the island. In fact, part of their mission here was to help combat the demon problem. Scandinavian demon hunters... no joke. They were convinced that the main problem here is that people try to use “good” demons and Islam to fight evil demons. Apparently there is no such thing as a good demon, and by using them the locals are opening up a door for evil demons to come through. Even the power of Allah is incapable of defeating the demon onslaught. Nay, only by accepting Jesus into their hearts will the good folk of the Zanzibar Islands be able to drive Popo Bawa and his brethren away for good.

While I was listening to this, I received a text message from one my more sensible and grounded students. It seems the night before Popo paid her a visit and proceeded to strangle and beat her with his magic. Fortunately, before Popo could succeed in doing what he does best, the girl’s magic shetani managed to drive him away.

The whole Popo Bawa scare hit its peak when storms of people began to take the streets at night in search of Popo and the evil wizards they believed were responsible for sustaining him. A couple men were stoned and beaten a week or so ago, (luckily they lived). A few nights ago, however, one accused sorcerer was killed. He was burned alive by an angry mob. The man was caught with some animal horns and other “magical” items. I mean, with such blatantly incriminating contraband, what else was there to do? I’d say the man got off light, really.

Word on the street is that Popo finally left the islands a day or two ago. (I guess the angry mob got the right guy?) People are still shaken up by the whole ordeal, but things are finally starting to get back to normal. I know I, for one, will never forget these past few weeks. I’m also proud to say that Popo never, uh, violated my sovereignty.

And now, everyone say it together:

“Pole Tanzania. Pole Zanzibar. Pole sana.”

The communist daughter

With coco leaves along the border
Sweetness sings from every corner
Cars careening from the clouds
The bridges burst and twist around
And watching something warm and moving
Bends towards herself the soothing
Proves that she must still exist
She moves herself about her fist
Sweet communist... the communist daughter
Standing on the seaweed water.


Not exactly something you’d expect to see on a tropical island off the coast of East Africa, eh?

Zanzibar’s had just about every kind of government imaginable over the years. From African chiefs, to Arab sultans, to Portuguese, German, and British colonial rule, to socialism, to the 1 1/2 party democracy of today (there are two parties, but only one of them ever wins). There are a few crumbling buildings left over from the colonial period, but they’re all in pretty bad shape:


During the extremely bloody revolutionary period of the late 50’s and early 60’s, in horrific displays of nationalism more than 17,000 foreigners, (many of them engineers, traders, and craftsmen), were massacred. Those who weren’t killed made the wise decision to leave. As a result, very few engineers remained on the islands, and the new socialist government had to rely on foreign contractors. The Soviets were more than happy to help, and sent some East German architects to help “modernize” the islands.

The story goes that the architects came to Zanzibar with plans to construct a number of apartment and government buildings in the drab Soviet style that was all the rage at the time. After the architects arrived, however, they were so enchanted by the natural beauty of the islands that they decided to scrap their original plans. For months they toiled over new designs, ultimately producing blueprints for elegant, Middle Eastern styled buildings. Unfortunately for us all, the Zanzibar government officials of the time were quick to shoot down the engineers’ ambitions. They didn’t want stylish buildings; they wanted “modern” ones. As a result, the islands are now scattered with towering, dreary monuments to Zanzibar’s socialist stint.


While far from aesthetically appealing on their own, the buildings are down right absurd given their surroundings. Every day when I walk into town to work, on my left I see:

And on my right:


It is kind of amusing that while we are in the most opposite of places imaginable, my sister and I are both subjected daily to the same delightful Soviet aesthetics. Libby is studying abroad in St. Petersburg at the moment. As unbearable as the summer African heat is, I don’t even want to imagine how crippling the cold of Russian winter must be. Hey, at least global warming is on her side I suppose. And I’m not gonna lie, the thought of flopping around in some snow right now is more than a little appealing. My thermometer hasn’t dropped below 82 since I’ve been on site. I’m going to be in trouble when I get back home to winter in Maine at the end of this Peace Corps gig. Sometimes in the mornings here it gets down to the low 80’s… and I need to put on a pullover. Africa broke me.

So, as foreign of an idea snow may be to me at the moment, it’s something downright alien to the people here. Most people here don’t even know their own word for snow, “theluji.” It’s not a particularly relevant term. It’s pretty funny when I show some pictures from home to the locals… especially ones of me skiing. I usually explain skiing as riding down an ice-covered mountain on really long shoes. More than one person has seen this picture and asked if it was taken in Dar es Salaam:


Let that sink in for a second.

Yes, some people here think Dar es Salaam has mountains and snow. As funny as that is, it’s actually not entirely surprising. The majority of the people here have never been to the mainland, and some have never even left their hometowns. Minibuses, (called dala dalas), are the main form of transportation in Tanzania, and the ones that go through my town have big signs displaying the town name and the name of the island’s capital, (this whole having to not disclose my location thing is getting real old, by the way). More than one person I’ve encountered didn’t know where the dala dalas go after they leave town. They didn’t know the name of the capital of their own island. I’d find this absurd, but there are places in northern Maine where the residents are just as geographically impaired. I’m from a hick state.

What northern Maine doesn’t have are pink chickens:


Apparently it’s a natural condition. When the chickens grow up the tone darkens into a reddish brown. But still. Bright pink baby chickens. You don’t see THAT every day...

So overall my life’s been pretty good for the past few weeks. I’ve recovered completely from the malaria now, (thanks to everyone who sent their well wishes!), have gotten into a rhythm with teaching, and I’ve been out and about around town.

This weekend I attended an afternoon wedding party. It was nice. There was lots of dancing, and some local drummers and singers gave performances.



As you can see, all of the women here wear headscarves outside, (and some even wear full veils). During school hours, female students wear thin, uniformed scarves. Every school has its own set of colors, and when schools get out in the afternoon the streets are flooded with a whole rainbow of hooded heads. Sometimes it feels like little armies of mages have invaded the town.

Here are some of the local primary school students next to my home:


The little kids here are super cute.

Teaching at my school has been going really well. My students are great, and seem genuinely excited to be learning computers. Some days there’s no power and I have to resort to teaching theory and hardware basics, but even then the students are really attentive. I have to give them credit, whenever I had a teacher who spoke really bad English in college I just zoned right out, and to native speakers I’m sure my Swahili sounds utterly terrible. The classes are going great though. Last week I set up some of my advanced students on email, and I hope to get them each connected with an American pen pal. (So if you’re high school or college aged and want to make an African friend, shoot me a line!)

It’s really nice to be at a supportive and peaceful school. I’ve heard some horror stories from other volunteers who have to deal with dubious class scheduling, corrupt teachers and headmasters, and ridiculous corporal punishment. I’m lucky in that I haven’t had to deal with any of that. It’s probably because I’m at a college instead of the typical secondary school Peace Corps assignment, but I’m definitely not complaining.

The only truly outlandish thing that’s happened so far at my school occurred this past week. One of the students was possessed by a demon.

Yup.

That’s right.

A demon.

My week was weirder than yours.

I was upstairs teaching a class when a girl in the classroom below mine started screaming hysterically. She started running around shouting jibberish until some other students and teachers managed to restrain her. I asked one of the teachers what was wrong, and was told that the girl was being possessed by a “shetani,” or demon. Apparently this is fairly common at schools all over the island. Voodoo’s a bitch. It seems evil spirits tend to attack in waves too, most commonly around exam time. Those evil spirits sure are crafty.

Just to be safe, (apparently demons can be contagious), school was called off for the day. It’s the Tanzanian version of a bomb threat. Some of the staff and students were visibly unnerved, and one of the teachers asked why I wasn’t afraid. My (admittedly lame) answer: mzungu magic. She seemed to buy it.

What followed next was some strange session that I guess amounted to a Muslim exorcism. I couldn’t tell what was going on as most of it was in Arabic, of which I only know a handful of expressions. Oh well, sometimes it’s best not to know.

I’ve been told by numerous folk that the most feared shetani on the island is named Popo Bawa, which literally means Bat Wing. Popo Bawa doesn’t bother with trivial school time hysterics either. Oh no, Popo Bawa is far more menacing. He’s a squat, creepy looking bat creature as black as the night itself. He’s about a meter in height, and has a single giant eye in the middle of his forehead. Popo Bawa’s victim wakes up in the middle of the night completely paralyzed and sees the demon materialize through the wall and approach the bed. The helpless prey is unable to move or cry for help as he or she, (Popo doesn’t discriminate), is anally pillaged by the demon.

... Really, I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.

Apparently in the late 90’s Popo Bawa’s attacks became so frequent that he created an island wide hysteria. People slept outside and on rooftops in an effort to escape the creature’s sick conquests. The mass panic got so bad that the government had to deploy soldiers and broadcast radio announcements to attempt to calm people down. Eventually the island’s mightiest witchdoctors and sorcerers gathered and used their magic to drive Popo Bawa away. He’s gone for now, but word on the street is that his return is imminent. All I know is that if I get ass raped by an African demon I’m quitting the Peace Corps and going home. Yessir, game over.